Poor Mark
by outspoken.preschooler
Summary: Mark gets tired of everyone giving Roger all the sympathy. They don't know what Mark had to go through when April died.


Title - What About Poor Mark?

Pairing - a little tiny bit of Mark/Maureen and Roger/April

Rating - R

Summary - Mark is bitter over the way everyone thinks about "poor Roger" when it comes to April's death.

Disclaimer - I don't own Rent. A brilliant man named Jonathan Larson does.

I remember everything like it was yesterday, even though it was a few years ago. No one understands. No one else had to see her. No one else had to listen to her last words. Roger gets all the sympathy. Poor Roger. He had to go through his girlfriend dying. Poor Roger. He had to go through withdrawal and the uncertainty of being HIV positive. No one ever thought about poor me. I was the one who had to watch her die, who had to clean up the mess. I was the one who had to arrange the funeral and pick out her best clothes. I was the one who had to force Roger into going. I was the one who had to get Roger clean. It was me. It was all me. I was the one who had to fix it. I'm still fixing it. I still can't go into the bathroom without flinching, without drawing back the curtains to check the bathtub, to make sure that it isn't full of water and blood and a floating body.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I had been out filming all day long and when I finally got home I was wary of opening the door. The last time I had slid it open had been the day before. The sight that greeted me was one that I would never be able to put out of my mind either. Roger and April on the floor. There was a discarded needle on the table, just the one. I didn't really think anything of it though. I was more interested in Roger and April. Roger was on top and he was pushing in and out of his girlfriend quickly, roughly. She must have liked it because she was moaning and pulling his head down for kisses. They didn't even notice me. I shut the door and hurried to my room. I didn't come out for hours. It was no wonder I hesitated to open the door the next day.

If you think about it, that really makes April's death my fault. Sure, I didn't hold the blade up to her wrist. I didn't press it into the skin as I laid her down in the bathtub. I didn't have to. I killed her by being so hesitant to open the door. I killed her because I was afraid of finding them on the floor again. If I had just stepped in faster then I would have been able to stop her. Anyway, when I did step in, the first thing I noticed was the bathroom door and the running water. None of us would leave the bathroom door open while we were taking a bath. Not even April and Roger. So, I went over to the door and that's when I noticed her arm hanging over the tub, blood running out of the cut on her wrist and onto the tile. Am I terrible person because the first thing I thought about was my camera?

I remember flinging the shower curtain open to find April, naked and bleeding, inside. She was already almost dead. There wasn't anything that I could do. So I didn't. She smiled at me and said she was sorry for the mess. I think I started crying because that was such an April thing to say. I turned off the faucet and sat on the floor next to the bathtub, leaning up against it as I cried. I don't know exactly how long I sat there, but it was until I heard the door. It was Roger and Maureen. I could tell immediately because they were fighting.

"April?" Roger called out. "Hey April, baby? You home?"

"Mark?" Maureen yelled. I didn't answer her. I was too busy thinking of ways to keep Roger out of the bathroom.

Roger must have heard me crying and thought it was April because he knocked on the bathroom door. "April, is that you?"

I jumped up as he began to turn the door handle. "No, it's me, Mark. Go Away," I yelled as I quickly locked it.

"Mark, are you alright?" Roger asked. He sounded worried. He was only at the door for a second though because I could hear Maureen pushing him away.

"Pookie, what's the matter? Why are you crying?" She didn't sound nearly as worried as Roger did. She had already been losing interest in me by this point and I knew that she had been sleeping around a little. She was bored.

"I need you to call 911," I said quietly. We didn't have a phone in our apartment. She would have to go downstairs and ask the dancer for help.

"Why, what's happened?" She asked, her voice becoming shrill and scared. "Are you hurt? Did you fall down in the shower, what's going on?"

"Just call the fucking number Maureen!" I yelled, choking on the words and adding a "please," to the end. I heard Maureen stomp out the door and then down the stairs. And then Roger was back at the door, trying to open it. I leaned my back against the door as I stood up, hoping that my extra weight my hold him back if he got the door open. It was then that I saw it. I saw the message written on the mirror in April's favorite lipstick. When I read what was written there I started crying harder. I was going to have to tell my best friend that he had AIDS.

"Mark, Mark!" Roger's beating on the door became frantic as he heard me break down. I decided that I needed to get out of the bathroom before the paramedics got there or Roger broke down the door. Looking back, it was the stupidest decision ever. It was much easier to keep Roger out while I was inside where he couldn't figure out that there was nothing wrong with me. Once he figured that out he was bound to want to go into the bathroom to see what was wrong with whoever was in there.

"Roger, Roger, get away from the door. I'm coming out." I listened intently until I heard him move back. Then I unlocked the door with shaky hands and opened it just enough for me to squeeze through. I shut the door again behind me and leaned up against it. Roger was immediately on me, inspecting me, every inch of me for some mortal wound. When he didn't find one he looked at the door. I could see his eyes boring into the door. "Please, don't Roger." I whispered. He didn't listen. I think he knew who was in there. He had to.

He tried to move me out of the way but I stood my ground. After a few minutes he started to get violent. He was clawing at me hitting me in the side to try and get me out of the way. I punched him. It was the only time I had ever hit him. It was the last time I ever hit him. I could see that he was startled. He even staggered back for a second. And then he hit me back. It wasn't the first time he ever hit me. It wasn't the last. I'm glad that the paramedics came then because I don't know how much longer I would have lasted against him, not if he kept hitting me.

The paramedics were better able to keep Roger away from seeing the body than I was. I stayed on my knees crying and dry heaving as I clutched my jaw. I watched them take her body away. I watched as Roger broke down when he finally went into the bathroom and I watched as Maureen looked on from the doorway, horrified. Maybe I'm not such a bad person. After all, I didn't wish that I had my camera. I wished that it had never happened. I still wished that it had never happened and not for the effect that it had on Roger. I wanted April back. She was my friend too. Angel reminded me of her actually. Then Angel died and it brought back all the memories. I think Roger felt the same way.

The next step was for me to identify her. Then I had to come home and stop Roger from killing himself. That was the worst. I think I made him feel so ashamed when I yelled at him. I'm pretty surethat he'll never even think of doing that again. I don't even remember what I said, but it was almost cruel. I do remember saying something along the lines of "If you're going to kill yourself then at least do it in the bathtub. Save me the clean-up." I immediately felt bad about it, especially when I actually got to the clean-up of April's mess. I must have scrubbed the bathroom until my lungs were on fire from the cleaning stuff. My eyes burned and were blurry for days. It didn't matter though. Every time I go into the bathroom I see the blood pooled on the floor and the writing on the mirror as clear as the first time. It just won't go away. Sometimes I even imagine that she's in the bathtub too. It doesn't matter if I captured it on my camera or not. It plays out on the 3D imax of my mind at least once a day.

I'm sick.


End file.
